Good Help Nowadays Is Hard To Find
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: With Helga leaving, the Heroes must find a replacement. Klink decides to hire new secretary, Hilda Kraas, who has her own reasons for accepting this post, miles away from her home. A past, which for her own good, she must forget. She's pretty, blond and even the names are similar, but she's surely not Helga. Now, Hogan and his team have only question...Where do her allegiances lie?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** _This may come as a shock, but I don't own Hogan's Heroes or any of its characters. All rights belong to the proper owners... I'm not making any money off of this story. Also, all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental._

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Guten Tag! Yes, yes, I know. I already have two unfinished stories that many people are waiting on me to finish... and I'll surely try to update them, but I'm really excited about this story and wanted to share it with you all.  
As some of you may know, I have always preferred Helga to Hilda. However, after reading some of the stories on here and watching the shows, I have found that she is growing on me. This story is my idea of how she came to be at Stalag 13 and how she came to work with Hogan's Heroes.  
Now, this is not what you would call strictly canon. Although, in my personal opinion, if the show writers could play fast and loose with original canon, why can't I?  
I have also given the secretaries last names, as I couldn't find anything listed for them. If anyone knows of their last names according to the show, please message me.  
Anyhow, I have kept you reading the obnoxiously long note for too long (lucky you there will probably be another one at the end of the story)  
Any and all feedback welcomed. Enjoy!

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 ** _Chapter One_**

"Hurry," Sergeant Hans Schultz urged for the hundredth time. "The Kommandant will be back from Hammelburg any moment."

"Take it easy, Schultzie," British POW, Corporal Peter Newkirk crooned. He casually batted the brown feather duster over the picture frames. "Colonel Hogan arranged this with Klink. It's perfectly legitimate."

This, of course was a lie. Colonel Hogan, Senior POW, spy and saboteur, required the Kommandant's personal stationery to commandeer a boat. Not a big boat, just a little dinghy. They needed it to meet their newest contact on the Main River just north of Gemunden, tomorrow night.  
Usually, they could depend on Helga, the Stalag secretary, to swipe some paper, but she'd been on personal leave for the past week and a half. So, while Newkirk distracted Schultz, Sergeant Andrew Carter, dug through the papers on Klink's desk. He found some sheets of blank stationery and 'accidentally' knocked the whole pile of papers over.

"Oh, gee!" Carter mumbled, "I'm sorry."

He knelt down and gathered up the papers, conveniently shoving one under the desk. Schultz came around and bemoaned his clumsiness. "How will I explain this to the Kommandant? Prisoners rifling through his desk."

"I'm not rifling," Carter said, indignantly. "I…" He paused staring at the letter in his hand.

"Do not read the Kommandant's mail," Schultz said, snatching the letter. Newkirk used this distraction to kneel and pocket the stationery.

"But it's from Helga," Carter protested, pointing to the signature.

Schultz, despite the impropriety, began to read. His brows furrowed together and then his eyes widened, prompting Newkirk to smirk, "that juicy, eh?"

"What is going on here?!" Kommandant Wilhelm Klink stood in the doorway. His monocle was removed, due to fogging up at the sudden change of temperature and his nose was red. His heavy overcoat covered with a dusting of snow. He stepped forward, removing his hat and scarf and putting them on the desk.

Carter joined Newkirk in a line, standing at attention. Schultz hurriedly replaced the letter and moved away from Klink's desk. "Colonel Hogan ordered a cleaning detail," he explained, "and I was supervising."

Klink gestured to the messy desk, "And going through my papers?"

"I, uh, knocked them over," Carter piped up, not wanting Schultz to get into any trouble. Newkirk elbowed him and shook his head slightly.

Klink glanced down at the papers, noticing Helga's letter on top, he turned to Schultz. "If there are to be any future cleaning details, _I_ will order them," he said, angrily in their native tongue. "You take your orders from me, not Hogan."

"As for you two," he switched to English and glared at the prisoners. "If I see you again before this evening's roll call, you'll each get a week in the cooler. Dismissed."

Schultz ushered the two prisoners out of the office and the kommandantur. As they walked down the steps and into the yard, Newkirk pestered the guard with questions about the letter's contents. Schultz, stubbornly remained mum. He pointed toward their barracks, "You two had better stay out of sight, the Big Shot wasn't kidding."

"Aw, he'll get over it," Newkirk said, airily. "He's just mad at you for readin' that letter… must've been a love letter." Newkirk smirked and waggled his eyebrows.

Schultz sighed, "it was not a love letter. Do not start rumors, or I will get into even bigger trouble." He pointed at the barracks, again. "Stay out of sight," he repeated, ambling away.

Carter opened the door and went inside, shivering as he stepped closer to the stove. Newkirk followed him, draping his too big, winter coat on the rack. Newkirk had salvaged it from the garbage heap after Klink threw it out. It was missing two of the hooks and was thus unable to hold Klink's coat. After some minor repairs, Newkirk managed to make it work. Several of the guys had wanted to break it up and use it for heat, but the stubborn Brit insisted it be used for coats. 'Make things a bit more civilized,' he'd claimed.

"What did the letter say?" he asked, sidling up next to him.

"I'm not sure," Carter shrugged, feeling a little frustrated. "I don't even speak German that good, never mind reading it."

Carter had only been at Stalag Thirteen for a few months. He'd been through their traveler's aid society, the year before and when Hogan found out that he'd been recaptured, he took it as a sign. Carter was meant to be a part of the organization. It didn't take the Colonel long to convince Klink that, in order for the higher-ups in Berlin to notice him, he had to flex his muscles. A week or two later, Carter arrived with fifteen other prisoners as part of a transfer. Hogan insisted they'd begin German lessons with him as soon as possible… but, as they say, Rome wasn't built in a day.

"Don't worry," Newkirk assured him. "We'll weasel it outta Schultzie later."

He crossed the room and rapped on the Colonel's office door. Upon hearing Robert Hogan's deep voice giving him authorization, he opened the door and gestured for Carter to follow him."Got it, sir," Newkirk pulled the paper out of his breast pocket and slapped it down, triumphantly, on his superior's desk. "And," he added, a self-satisfied look on his face, "We did it faster than LeBeau could sucker Mueller at the motor-pool."

"Think again, mon bon ami."

Newkirk turned half-way and spotted his little, French mate with his arms crossed and leaning against the back wall. Corporal Louis LeBeau held out a hand and gave the 'give me' gesture. Newkirk turned his wrist over and pulled the leather strap on his watch. With all the sullenness of a three year old, he handed it over.

"Cheer up," LeBeau couldn't help getting in a friendly dig. "You will probably cheat me out of it at cards tonight."

"Knock it off, fellas." Hogan, up until this point, had been ignoring their tomfoolery. He was writing the letter from Klink. Klink was a hard man for Hogan to mimic in letters, because he was made up of two parts arrogance, one part vanity, and the rest… sheer cowardice. All of which Hogan found utterly contemptible, not just for a military officer, but in a man in general.

"Okay, what do you think?" he handed the letter to Newkirk.

Newkirk skimmed over the lines and nodded approvingly before passing it back to LeBeau. LeBeau chuckled, "your spelling is better, but other than that..." he passed it on to Carter, who because he couldn't read German gave it back to Hogan.

"That reminds me," Newkirk drawled out. In truth, he hadn't really forgotten, but was thankful for the opportune moment to work it into the conversation. "Andrew, here stumbled upon something in Klink's desk that might be of interest to us."

"Oh?" Hogan turned to his newest member, expectantly.

Carter looked surprised at the sudden attention. He turned red and stuttered, "Well, I don't know about interesting… but… well, I found a letter addressed to Kommandant Klink."

"A letter to Klink? In his desk? Non," LeBeau mocked. He and Carter hadn't been in very good stead for a couple of weeks now, but neither party would admit what the depute was about. Hogan was inclined to let them work it out themselves… as long as it didn't interfere with morale or their work, that is.

"So, he gets letters from Helga every day, does he?" Newkirk mocked right back.

Hogan leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully chewing on the top of his fountain pen. "What are you thinking?" he finally asked.

Newkirk's lips tightened into a firm line. "Well," he began carefully, knowing full well that Hogan and the secretary had been involved to some extent. "I've always had a gloomy outlook on life. A cynic, me mum said… but, I can't help but think it's a bit fishy that she up and vanishes one day without so much as a by-your-leave then she's writin' letters to Klink."

"Maybe she's extending her leave," LeBeau suggested with a shrug, "It could all be perfectly innocent."

Newkirk didn't respond, but with the look on his face it was obvious what he thought of that idea. Hogan sighed, "and what was in the letter?"

Newkirk shook his head, "didn't get a look at it; was too busy getting the paper… then Klink showed up."

"And he was hopping mad, boy!" Carter said, scooting forward. "Uh, sir."

Hogan fiddled with the pen, replacing the cap. "You want to break into Klink's office and read it?" he asked, scanning the Brit's face. "Why?"

Newkirk flinched under Hogan's intense scrutiny. He shifted and cast a quick glance at LeBeau. "Guv, I'm not saying she has..." he broke off not wanting to finish the ugly thought. He tried again, "She knows an awful lot about us and what we do..."

"After everything she's done for us?" LeBeau said in disbelief, his nose crinkled up in distaste, "You think she'd just…"

Hogan held up a hand to indicate silence. He looked as troubled as Newkirk felt and not for the first time was Newkirk glad he wasn't an officer. "Okay, go get the letter."

Newkirk shook his head, "Can't. The way Klink was acting, I wouldn't be surprised if he locked up his papers and with me lock picks gone I wouldn't have a chance."  
Newkirk had his picks taken from him weeks ago when he'd been captured on a routine mission. Hogan had gotten him back in one piece, but the picks were probably still locked away in that drawer. They'd requested new picks from London and they were placed on priority. Unfortunately, supply drops were few and far between.

"Then why even bring it up?" LeBeau snapped.

Newkirk hesitated, not wanting to send the Frenchman through the roof. "Because Schultz read the letter."

LeBeau was fuming as Hogan quietly, but firmly, gave the order. Make the strudel.

H~H

It had been almost half an hour since that meeting in the office. LeBeau had taken his frustrations out on the dough, pounding it against the table. After it had been set aside to rise, he turned to the apples. Peel, cut, core, slice and repeat.

Carter watched from the other side of the table. Newkirk hadn't spoken since Hogan had ordered them out. A thick, eerie silence had enveloped them, making everyone one in the room tense and uncomfortable. Every now and then LeBeau would mutter something to himself. Finally, Carter couldn't take it anymore and asked LeBeau what he had said.

"I said," LeBeau barely looked up from his cutting board, "If I never see another apple strudel or any apples, for that matter, it will be too soon."

Carter was silent a moment and then perked up, "but what about that restaurant you want to own, after the war? Won't you need apples and strudel?"

"Any cafe I own, will be French," the cook tossed the apples in with the cinnamon and sugar mixture. How Newkirk always managed to find cinnamon was beyond any of them, but LeBeau was always grateful to have the spice on hand.

"But don't French-folk cook with apples?" Carter asked. "Mary-Jane's mom has a recipe for clayfoutis and it's real good."

LeBeau visibly cringed at the American's mispronunciation. "Clafoutis, and no. It takes cherries, not apples."

"Mary-Jane's mom always made it with apples," Carter smiled. "Although, maybe that's because they own an apple orchard."

"Or perhaps they are just barbarians," LeBeau said. "I swear, you Americans are worse than the English."

Newkirk jumped down from his bunk and crossed the common room to sit at the table. "Lay off, Louis."

LeBeau focused his attention back on the strudel, but the conversation playing in his mind was far from pretty. Newkirk stood and went back to his bunk. He didn't really want to lay down and smoke some more. He wanted to get out into the fresh, albeit cold, air. He wanted to walk around the camp yard until he could forget this whole rotten mess.

"Gee, I don't see why everyone's so crabby," Carter said. "I mean isn't this what we always do? Bribe the krauts to get the information. A piece of pie."

"You stupid boy," LeBeau bit out, even though in reality there was only a couple of years between them. Carter almost fell out of his seat, surprised at the venom in the cook's tone. He slammed the pan of cooked apples on the table and continued, "what do you think? This is just a game we play?"

Carter wasn't sure what he'd done to set LeBeau off and looked to Newkirk for instruction, "I don't understand."

Newkirk pulled a pack from his bunk and began to smoke. "Andrew," he said, slowly. "The way we work is, well, it's spying."

"I know that," Carter said. He was about sick of everyone assuming that he was dumb just because he came from North Dakota and was only twenty years old… well, he would be in a few weeks anyway.

"and if we get caught..."

"I know," Carter said impatiently, "we all get stood in front of the firing squad. The Colonel already explained all of that. I know the risks."

LeBeau scoffed as Newkirk took a deep drag. "Knowing these risks, you can understand why the Guv needs to be cautious," he watched the younger man's reaction. "And if there were a threat to our safety… then we'd need to take care of it."

Carter blinked a few times, processing what Newkirk was saying. Suddenly, it hit him. That was why everyone had been so upset. They were talking about… about…  
His face turned white and his eyes held a glimmer of fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed, hoping his heart would stay out of his throat just long enough for him to speak. "You mean," his voice was nothing, but a hoarse whisper. "We're going to kill her?"

H~H

Helga stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her light, blond hair was pulled back into a loose bun and her make-up was done to perfection. Well, almost. She leaned in and ran her ring finger underneath her lower lip to clean away the smudges. She smiled and sat back, catching his gaze in the mirror.

"Must you go?" he whispered. Sliding the collar of her blouse aside, he placed a soft kiss on her shoulder. He followed the line of her collar bone, placing kisses, until he reached the hollow of her throat. "You could just stay with me instead," he suggested, pulling her into a proper kiss.

She lost herself for a moment, reveling in the warm and tender embrace. When his kisses returned to her neck, she pushed him back. One look in the mirror confirmed that she would have to re-apply her lip stick. "Yes," she said, answering his question. "I promised Colonel Klink that I would return. Besides," her eyes clouded. "I have something rather unpleasant to do."

He sat on the chair beside her French Provincial vanity, watching her carefully remove the lipstick with a tissue. "If it is unpleasant and makes you unhappy then don't do it."

She chuckled, "is that how you became a major? By avoiding unpleasant things?"

"That's different."

"Why?" she countered, "because you are a man?"  
He sighed in exasperation and she spun to face him, "Darling, our life together can only begin right, if we settle things now. It is something I must do if I am to move on." She place her hand against his cheek.  
"It will only take a couple of days. Maybe a week and then I will be back with you."  
When he didn't argue with her, she smiled again, "Be a dear and get the car. If we don't hurry, I'll miss my train."

* _To Be Continued_ *

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Author's Note 2:

Okay, so Klink is a little less buffoonish and LeBeau is a little more extreme in the temper. I'm portraying them that way because, to my way of thinking, people don't always act in the same predictable manner all the time. Hopefully, you'll stick with me as the tale unfolds.  
Thank you,

L.E. Wigman


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill... All rights belong to their proper owners. I'm not making a dime from this story. Also, all characters are fictional, so any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

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 _ **Chapter Two**_

 _Fifteen more minutes…_

Hilda Kraas stared at the clock on the wall, willing the minute hand to move faster. Her friend, Karla, was probably already at the restaurant waiting on her. She heaved a sigh and scratched at her brown, wool stockings. These stockings would be the death of her… death by itching. She couldn't remember the last time she had a pair of nylon or silk hose.

Not that griping about it made situations any better. Gunther had promised to get her some, but with the war on…

Hilda picked up her pencil and resumed her activities. She wouldn't call it work, as she spent more time doodling than writing. She dropped her chin into her hand and continued to sketch Gunther's face.

His receding hairline was about the only thing that gave away the fact that he was in his early-fifties. His skin was still taut and youthful. His hair and thin mustache were still dark. She smiled softly, _Yes, indeed, he is quite a handsome man._  
She sketched his strong, square jaw-line and the deep dimple in his chin. She had just begun to shape his lips, when she heard the door open. Hilda looked up and fought the urge to groan as she quickly flipped over the page on her doodle pad.

A tiny woman stood in the door way. Her light-brown hair was swept into an up-do with tiny wisps of hair that fell around her face. In any other woman, it would have seemed messy or unkempt, but with her, it only served to emphasize her delicate features. She went straight to the desk and inspected Hilda a moment before asking, "Is my husband in?"

Despite the woman's small frame, she managed to speak in a formidable, determined way. Hilda smiled, hoping it didn't appear forced. "Yes, ma'am, but he's received an important phone call and instructed that no one disturb him." The woman's jaw clenched and her lips tightened in obvious displeasure. "If you'd like to have a seat?" Hilda added, gesturing to the chairs by the door.

The woman turned to the chairs, her heels clicking as she walked across the room and sat. Hilda stared at her for a moment. She was perched on the edge of the seat in a stiff, doll-like manner. Yes, that was it. She reminded Hilda of the fine, china doll that Mama kept on the knick-knack shelf. The one Hilda was never allowed to hold.  
The woman noticed her staring and met her gaze. Embarrassed, Hilda ducked her head and once more begged the powers-that-be for the time to pass quickly.

Keeping her head bowed, Hilda turned to the typewriter and fed paper into the machine. She sincerely hoped that the clacking of the typewriter would keep the woman from attempting a conversation.  
The loud buzz of the intercom caused her to look up. She grabbed the receiver and noticed the woman was still staring at her. "Yes, sir?" she asked, her voice ended with an unpleasant squeak. She cleared her throat, "Yes, Herr Weiland."

Weiland droned on with demands for this report from the assembly section and that report from supply. Hilda wrote the demands on her pad and nodded, unconsciously. The woman cleared her throat.

"Herr Weiland," Hilda interrupted, taking the woman's hint. "Your wife is here."

The intercom went dead and Weiland appeared at the office door. He smiled, sweetly, "Dorothea, good morning."

Mrs. Weiland stood, accepting his hand and turning her head for him to kiss her cheek. "You didn't forget that you were supposed to luncheon with me, did you?"

He chuckled, "Of course not, my dear. Just let me get my hat and coat." he returned to his office, emerging a moment later with his hat on and placing his arm in one of the sleeves of his coat. He noticed Hilda and said, "Dorothea, you've heard me mention Hilda. Hilda, this is my wife."

Mrs. Weiland gave a slight incline of her head and Hilda murmured a quiet, "Pleased to meet you."

Weiland continued, "Go on to lunch, Hilda. All of that can wait until after you've eaten."

"If we don't hurry, we'll be late," Mrs. Weiland prodded her husband. Weiland offered his arm and she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. "I'm happy to see that my Gunther has such an able secretary. If he didn't, I don't know if he'd ever find time to leave the office."

She smiled down at Hilda with a serpentine look that didn't suit her doll-like features. Hilda forced a return smile and watched as Weiland guided his wife through the door. As the door closed, she snapped the pencil she was holding in half.  
 _What a horrid woman,_ she thought. She stood and went for her coat, which was hanging on the rack behind the door. _It's no wonder he wants rid of her.  
_ As she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the brown herringbone, she glanced back at the pad of paper holding the unfinished sketch and giggled. _She'll get her comeuppance when he tells her about the divorce._

H~H

Carter sat on a barrel just outside of the barracks. His cheeks were red and his fingers were growing numb; even though he kept his back to the wind. He'd been out there since the end of roll call and that was over an hour ago. Klink had ordered that Newkirk and Carter be barred from the Recreation Hall for one month as punishment for being in a restricted zone. He'd also added that if those two prisoners didn't want it to become three months, they would stay out of his sight for the time being.

Newkirk was so angry that he'd almost been tempted to lift Klink's watch, or so he'd said. He'd started chain smoking cigarettes, much like he had yesterday. Carter would never understand what would possess his friend to smoke those things. He'd tried them once and they not only made him sick to his stomach, but they also caused his asthma to flare. Even breathing in too much of Newkirk's smoke would cause his chest to tighten.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and shivered. Hopping down from the barrel, he reached for the door when he heard Corporal Langenscheidt let out a cheerful laugh. He turned toward the sound and almost groaned when he spotted the German opening the gate for a leggy blonde.

Helga was back from vacation.

Carter hadn't slept at all last night. He kept picturing that pretty girl smiling at him. She'd been ever so nice about the mug of coffee he'd knocked over and spilled on her desk last month. She'd helped him clean it up and hadn't told any of the guys, or Colonel Hogan, or the Kommandant. And those first few weeks, when he didn't have any letters from home, she'd talked with him. Listened to him, without making him feel weak or silly. The thought of having to 'take care of her', turned his stomach.

Schultz had been unusually tight lipped the night before. They'd invited him in shortly before lights out. They were having their bed time snack, they'd said... and wouldn't he like to join them. Schultz could hardly contain his excitement. He started to wolf down the strudel before LeBeau even set it on the table. Hogan began questioning him, but as soon as Helga was mentioned, he grew very still. Pushing the plate away from him, he'd excused himself and insisted that he knew nothing. Leaving the Heroes as in the dark as they'd been before.

Helga trudged up the little pathway that had been cleared from the gate to the Kommandatur. She shot him a fond smile as she passed. Carter felt his heart flop and he gave her a small wave. Perhaps he should warn her… beg her to talk to Hogan and straighten this whole mess out… there was no way she had turned against them.

Ironically, despite their little tiff, he and LeBeau were the only two in the barracks who believed Helga was innocent. After Schultz's disappearing act, Kinch, Olsen, and Baker had all agreed with Newkirk that it wasn't looking good for her. Hogan hadn't said much, but his perpetual frown and furrowed brow spoke volumes.

"There you are."

Carter jumped when he heard Hogan's voice over his shoulder. He blushed, furiously, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. Hogan had an uncanny ability to always know what he was thinking.

"Helga's back," he said, softly. Hogan's face registered no emotion as he nodded. Carter continued watching as she opened the door and disappeared into the building. "Sir," he asked, uncertainly. "Do we have to do it? I mean, what if we're wrong?"

Hogan's gaze shifted to a trio of guards who were eying them suspiciously. He clapped Carter's shoulder and smiled, "Go back to the barracks – write a letter or two – don't worry about a thing."

"But..."

"No, buts, Carter." Hogan kept his tone light and his smile pleasant. The guards started to walk on as Carter turned back to the barracks. Hogan considered his next move carefully. He needed to confirm what they all believed. However, if Helga was working against them, then even talking to her could lead him into a trap. Inhaling a deep breath of chilly air, he crossed the yard and took the kommandantur steps two at a time.

As he stepped through the door, he spotted her immediately. Helga was seated at her desk, removing a deep purple scarf from her head. She placed the silk scarf in her left-hand drawer and looked up.  
Hogan could have sworn he spotted worry in her blue eyes. Whatever it was disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced with her usual smile. He slipped an easy-going smile on his face to match hers and sauntered to the Kommandant's door.

"Hiya, honey," he said, just as he'd done many times before. He jutted his head toward the office, "is the Big Shot in?"

"I think so," she replied, standing and making her way toward the door. "Let me check and make sure he's accepting visitors." She placed her hand on the knob, but paused before opening it. She leaned closer to him and whispered, "I need to speak with you. Will you meet me, tonight, at the usual spot?"

Hogan didn't hesitate to acknowledge her request with a slight nod and allowed Helga to announce him before bursting in. Klink didn't even attempt to hide his annoyance. He cut the American off before he could spin another one of his wild webs of misdirection. "Helga," Klink barked, glaring at his counterpart. "Put Colonel Hogan in my calendar for next week."

"But, Kommandant..." Hogan protested, as Helga obediently slid passed him to the outer office.

"No," Klink said, without even looking away from his folder.  
He had about fifteen of them, varying in thickness, stacked neatly on the desk. Klink frowned at whatever he was reading and closed the folder mumbling under his breath in German, '...she won't do', before tossing it into a new pile.  
Hogan stepped closer to the desk, watching as the Kommandant opened another folder and just as quickly shut it with a shudder and dropped it with the first one.

He cleared his throat, but Klink was too absorbed in the next file to pay any attention. Hogan opened his mouth to press forward, but decided against it. Saying instead, "I understand, Kommandant. You're much too busy to speak with – "  
As he spoke, he edged around the desk just enough to get a peek at the folder. Although he couldn't make out the smaller print from this distance, he was able to see enough to realize that it was a résumé. A neatly typed letter was on the right-hand side along with a hand written letter on the left. A picture of a young woman, who might have been attractive except for the severely slicked-back hair and firm frown, was attached to the top with a paper clip. " – the senior prisoner of war officer..."

Something about his tone must have jarred Klink from his reading, for he snapped the folder shut and turned, glaring at him suspiciously. "What is it, Hogan?"

Hogan shrugged and feigned interest in the cork board behind the desk. "It's just that punishment for Corporal Newkirk and Sergeant Carter..."

"I won't lessen the sentence," Klink said, stubbornly.

"It isn't their fault. They were following my orders."

Klink pulled the monocle from his eye and wiped it with the bottom of his uniform coat. "I think you, your men, and apparently even Schultz seem to be confused about who's actually in charge of this camp," he said, irritably. He screwed the eye piece back into place. "Perhaps it's time I take measures to correct that misimpression."

Hogan sat on the corner of the desk and picked up one of the folders, opening it with a casual air of disinterest. He quickly scanned the page before Klink snatched the folder back. "I was only trying to help you."

"Right," Klink scoffed. He moved the larger stack of folders to the other side of the desk.

"It's true," Hogan insisted. "I heard what Burkhalter said last time he visited. You remember about how disorganized the camp was… how dirty it was..." He paused long enough for Klink to try and remember Burkhalter's last visit, before prodding, "You do remember, right?"

Klink straightened, "Of course, I remember."

"Naturally, I didn't want you to get into any trouble." Hogan smiled in an overly friendly manner.

"Naturally," Klink repeated, disgustedly. He pointed to the door and said quietly, "out."

"But the punishments..."

Klink pinched the bridge of his nose, "Will remain in place and should I require any more 'cleaning details', _I_ will arrange them. Now, out!"

Hogan stood as Klink pushed him off the desk and headed toward the door. He had a smirk on his face as he stepped into Helga's outer office. She glanced at him and just as quickly looked away. As the grin died on his face, he flipped the collar of his coat and hurried through the door into the wind.

Back in the barracks, the rest of the Heroes were waiting anxiously for Hogan to return. Carter's announcement of Helga's return had settled over them like a bad dream. Newkirk threw his cigarette into the stove and moved the kettle onto the burner.

"How did she look?" he asked Carter before turning to Kinch. "Why do you think she came back?"

Newkirk was fumbling with the tea can until LeBeau pushed him away from the stove. He opened the tin and, after making sure Kinch and Carter didn't want any, removed two bags. "Perhaps she is completely innocent and has come back to do…" he gasped, melodramatically, "horror of horrors, her job. You will see, the Colonel will find out that there is nothing wrong."  
He plopped each of the bags into a mug and waited for the water to boil.

Kinch opened his mouth to concur with LeBeau about waiting for the Colonel, but was interrupted by Hogan stepping through the barracks door. Newkirk began immediately peppering him with questions until he held up a hand to indicate silence.

"Coffee, mon Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

Hogan shook his head and sat down at the table. He started with an apology, "Sorry, fellas, I couldn't get Klink to lift the penalties. He was very insistent."

"Never mind that," Newkirk answered, impatiently. "What about Helga?"

Hogan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I wasn't able to talk with her, yet. She did ask for me to meet her tonight at the cross roads, though."

The Heroes sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Kinch asked, "are you going?"

Hogan nodded slowly. Newkirk shook his head in disbelief, "Come on, guv… that's dangerous."

"Only if she's guilty," Carter pointed out.

Never one to be left out of a conversation, LeBeau added his two cents. "She is our friend and comrade. The Colonel will be fine."

"And if she isn't our friend and comrade?" Newkirk snatched up his cigarette pack, only to toss it back down when he realized it was empty. "I don't mean to sound mistrustful, but if it's a trap – and let's not kid ourselves, it probably is – Colonel Hogan gets caught and then we're all in for it."

Hogan sat listening to his men talk it over. He knew, they all did, that the ultimate decision was his, but as Newkirk so eloquently put it, they were all in this together. He turned to Kinch, his de facto second-in-command, and tried to read his features. While he did value Newkirk and LeBeau's input, their's were usually colored with emotions and Carter, of course, was still very inexperienced. Kinch was the one who could really sway Hogan's decisions.

"What do you think, Kinch?" Hogan asked quietly, giving up on mind reading.

Kinch shrugged, "They're both right. Helga hasn't given any real indication of guilt, but we'd be fools not to play it safe."

"So, we keep the meeting?" Hogan asked, thoughtfully.

Kinch nodded, adding, "but, just to be safe, maybe one of us should go with you."  
Hogan agreed and Newkirk and LeBeau both offered to do the job with both objecting to the other's offer. Hogan shook his head and before heading back to his quarters, he said, "Kinch is with me on this one. Be ready at 22:00 hours."

H~H

Hilda sipped the bubbling wine as Gunther placed kisses on her collar bone and neck.

When she'd spotted the champagne, she'd assumed that was their celebration. He'd finally demanded the divorce and that witch of a woman had agreed. He was free of her and now belonged to Hilda. Her very own true love…

But then he'd begun to hem and haw… 'she'd just have to be patient a bit longer' and 'he couldn't possibly leave Dorothea now; not right before their anniversary'… surely she understood that, right?

She didn't speak as he'd smiled and kissed her cheek. She'd watched, silently, as he popped the cork, poured the chilled wine into two glasses, and guided her to the sofa. She now sat in mind-numbing disappointment as he began his long process of making love…

 _It's just as Karla said,_ she thought, tears filling her eyes as she thought of her friend's words at lunch. She'd tried to be polite, as delicate as she could be, but she'd firmly told Hilda that Gunther Weiland would never get divorced. He couldn't afford to, not with his position and definitely not with his wife's relatives. She swallowed another sip of the wine, desperately wishing it was schnapps, instead. _He doesn't have any intention of leaving his wife. He's using me for just a bit of fun on the side…_

Gunther slid his hand to her blouse, undoing the first two buttons before she snapped, "Stop!"

She pushed his hand away and stood. Crossing the room, she placed the glass down on the desk and leaned across the top in agony.

"Liebchen?" he stood, a look of concern and puzzlement on his face. He turned her so that she faced him and, for the first time noticed the tears that had spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. "I know it is not what you or I wanted, but please be patient a little bit longer. I promise you, I will tell her."

Hilda's eyes snapped up to meet his and behind the sheen of tears, hers held quiet fury. "When?" she demanded. "When will you tell her?"

"Liebchen..."

"Next week?" Hilda said angrily, "No, I'm sure you'll find another excuse... it might interfere with her birthday, or maybe her mother will have another turn for the worse."

He put both of his hands on her shoulders and rubbed, gently. "You are upset, I know, but you must listen to me," he said, calmly. "Dorothea must be handled with care; rushing things will not end well."

"Don't patronize me," she hissed, pushing him away from her. "Karla was right, you'll never leave her. So, there really is no point in me continuing on with this romance." She said the last word bitterly as she headed for the office door.

"Hilda," Gunther growled in a low and threatening tone. He crossed the room, his longer legs enabling him to reach the door before she did. She gasped in surprise as he grabbed her forearm and wrenched her away from the door.

"Let go," she demanded, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky and frightened as she felt. Her warm, kind, gentle Gunther was gone and in his place was this callous brute. The strong jaw she'd admired just this morning, was now clenched angrily. She squirmed, trying to pull her arm free. He gave her a rough shake before pushing her toward the couch. She stumbled and fell back into the couch when he finally let go.

"I decide when we are done," he stated, simply, without raising his voice even a fraction. He put a finger underneath her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. She grimaced at the hostility that radiated from those brown orbs. "and you, mein liebling, are still young and pretty. I'm not done with you... not yet, anyway."

He straightened and grabbed his coat, "I'll see you in the morning. Clean up this mess." He stopped at the door and smirked, "oh, and don't forget to lock up when you're finished."

The door closed and Hilda sat in stunned silence rubbing her arm. She could still see the impressions his fingers had left behind. Her head spun trying to understand what had just happened.

 _He said he loved m_ _e,_ was the only solid thought she could hold onto, the rest came in swirling tidbits…

Mrs. Weiland and her connections which prevented the divorce... Karla's concern that bordered on pity... The nights she and Gunther had spent working together and how quickly that had blossomed...

How had she so innocently stumbled into this love affair? More importantly, how could she get out?

This was her first job and it was hard to believe that Gunther would just _give_ her a good reference; without that, she could forget about finding another one. Gunther held a lot of sway in Leipzig and the surrounding areas, he could easily make life difficult. In short, she was trapped in this mess which, she reluctantly admitted, she had created for herself.

"No," She said, stopping her spinning thoughts. Her anger propelled her to her feet and she began to pace, "He can't treat me like that. He won't make a fool out of me."

As she paced, she began to plot. She had some money saved... it wasn't much, but with her paycheck coming this Friday, she'd have enough. She would cash the check and board a train headed west. She'd travel far enough west that the Weiland name couldn't touch her. _Dortmond or Dusseldorf… maybe even Cologne,_ she decided, smiling in satisfaction. Four more days and she could leave… she'd only have to play the fool for four more days.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey, hey, hey! I hope all of you had a wonderful summer because I sure did. I hope to get back into form and finish this (and the other six stories I'm currently working on) completed soon. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own _Hogan's Heroes._ I don't make any money out of these stories. My only reward is the enjoyment I get from creating. None of these characters are real, any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental.

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

The wind began to pick up, creating an icy chill that prickled the skin. The snow that had fallen that afternoon wasn't deep enough to leave noticeable tracks and the snow which remained was so powdery that the wind easily blew it into swirls. It was a little after ten when Hogan and Kinch crawled out of the tunnel hatch. The usual meeting time was eleven, but Hogan wanted to get there before hand. If it was a trap, then they wouldn't be expecting him to come early; and, hopefully, whomever Helga was working with – probably Gestapo – might just show themselves. If it wasn't a trap… well then, he supposed that he and Kinch would just get a bit more frozen than usual. No harm; no foul.

The two moved quickly and quietly through the trees. Both were dressed in their blacks and Hogan's face was smeared with dark grease. A fully-loaded pistol was tucked into each of their waistbands. Hogan had allowed extra time in case they need to detour or avoid patrols, but the woods were empty. Not even a rabbit or hedgehog was spotted which only multiplied the eerie atmosphere tenfold. About twenty minutes into their trek, the trees began to clear and they came upon the crossroad. Hogan signaled for Kinch to stop while they were still within the cover of the trees. He slowly scanned the area, seeking out any small movement or strange shadows, or _anything_ out of place. Kinch also kept his eyes searching the area, but after a few moments had passed and nothing moved, he broke the silence.

"Looks empty," he said, being sure to keep his voice low. "Helga's not here, yet." Kinch figured they must be quite early, but didn't dare risk switching on the flashlight just for a look at his watch. "What do you think?"

Hogan gestured to a small stand of trees across the road. It had thick shrubs and tall grass surrounding which made for a convenient hiding spot. "I suggest we wait there," he whispered. Taking a quick look around, Hogan darted across the road with Kinch only seconds behind. Hogan was immensely pleased to find a fallen log laying in the brush and after making sure all the snow was brushed off the top, he sat down. Kinch looked around cautiously and occasionally poked the grass with a stick he'd found. Finally, Hogan whispered, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir," Kinch said quickly. He stepped into the grass and parked himself on the log beside Hogan. "Just checking for snakes."

"Snake phobia?"

Kinch looked over at his commanding officer, who wore the faintest of grins. "No, sir," Kinch replied, a smile also tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's just say I have a healthy respect for all things that can take your life, be it snakes, spiders, illness, or women."

Hogan returned a melancholic smile, as the mention of the fairer sex brought him back to the task at hand. Pulling the collar of his coat tighter around his neck, he scrunched into a more comfortable position. For the hundredth time this war, he longed for the warmth of a wool mackinaw. They sat quietly, each absorbed in their own thoughts, but mindful to keep alert. The minutes passed slowly and Kinch suppressed a yawn as the steady whistle of the wind attempted to lull him to sleep. Finally, after a couple false alarms, Helga's delicate frame walked into view. She had a flashlight in one hand and a leather satchel in the other. She hurried over to the post for the road signs and stopped. She looked around, set the bag against the post, and then quietly turned the flashlight's beam onto her wrist watch.

"You stay here," Hogan whispered. He pulled the pistol from his waistband. "Keep a sharp eye out."

Kinch pulled his pistol and after giving Hogan a quick nod, sent up a silent prayer that he didn't have to use it. Hogan crawled out of the deep grass while taking care to stay in the shadows and not give away Kinch's location. When he was comfortable with the distance, he stepped onto the road.

Hilda spotted him almost immediately and smiled in greeting. As Hogan neared, he noticed the worry from earlier that morning was still settled on her face.

"Robert," she said softly. "Thank you for coming." Hogan scanned the treeline behind her for anything out of place. Helga turned to see what he was looking at and seeing nothing, she asked, "what's wrong?"

"You tell me," he answered, keeping his expressions neutral.

She frowned for a moment before heaving a sigh. Turning toward the sign post, she said, "I'm not sure where to begin..."

Hogan watched her gloved fingers trace the pattern of the wood. She was obviously struggling and he couldn't help the part of him that turned to mush whenever he saw her upset. He went to the other side of the sign post, so that he could see her face without forcing her to look at him. "I've always found that the best way is to just spit it out," he said, slowly giving into the sweet spot he held for her.

She looked up and in the half-moonlight spotted that cheeky smile of his. The one he'd given her when he first set foot in the kommandantur. He'd had two guards to hold him and a captain to transfer the paperwork. She thought he must've been incredibly dangerous, but then he'd smiled and winked at her, too! She felt her whole world go topsy-turvy as a blush reddened her cheeks.

"Helga?" he prompted.

She smiled a soft, but somber smile. "I've given Kommandant Klink my resignation."

Hogan blinked once then twice, too stunned to speak. He felt a sense of overwhelming relief followed by confusion, then by sincere concern. "Why?" was all he could manage to get out.

"I'm to be married next month."

If he was stunned before then this completely floored him. He pulled away from the post… _Married?_ Aloud, he stuttered, "but who? Why?"

"There's no reason you would know him," Helga said, shaking her head slightly. Hogan stared at her until she gave in, "fine, his name is Bruno and he's a major in the Army… and as for why... I buried my parents last week. They were killed in a bombing raid." Despite her best efforts, more tears filled her eyes. She pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and dabbed at the inner corner of her eye. As she blew her nose gently, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She cleared her throat, "I, uh… I have two brothers and a sister to care for and that takes a lot more than a secretary can make. Bruno is the only way to keep my family together."  
Bending down, she scooped up the bag and pulled out several folders. Hogan noticed they looked identical to the ones Klink was looking at this morning. "The Kommandant has whittled the list down to these three," she explained, holding the files out to him. "He's set up interviews with all three, but I figured you'd want to have a look."

He took the files and used her flashlight to read them. The first was Angela Muller, aged nineteen. A Hammelburg resident for all her life and former member of the Band of German Maidens, the girl's section of the Hitler Youth. Her parents - her father, specifically - were also well-known Nazi supporters. She'd just completed her land service requirement and was now seeking employment.  
Kristen Wolff was the oldest of the lot at twenty-three years. She'd worked as a secretary for a coal mining company in Berlin until 1939, when she married a Luftwaffe pilot. Her husband was shot down and killed in 1940 during a raid on the English coast. She'd moved closer to his parents home earlier this year.  
The last candidate was Marie Lundberg, also nineteen. Her parents were Swedish immigrants and little was known about her background.

"They don't tell me much," he said. "do you know any of them?"

"No, but I know this girl's parents." She pulled Marie's file from his hand. "Her father runs a small laundry in Bad Kissingen. His name is Johan and we have used his shop to house escapees for a few days."

"Then it sounds like she'll be our best bet," he said, unzipping his jacket and tucking the files close to his chest. "I'll have Kinch run the names through London."

"But the files," she protested, "I have to return them to the Kommandant's office before morning."

Hogan closed her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll send LeBeau and Newkirk to the office tomorrow after roll call, they'll leave the files in your desk."

She nodded curtly and said a soft goodbye before hurrying down the road. Hogan watched until she disappeared from view and signaled Kinch to join him. Together, they picked their way back to camp and the men waiting anxiously for their return.

H~H

"And so, in conclusion," Klink shouted, walking down the line of men standing for roll call. "For any of you foolish enough to consider tunneling, or fence hopping, or stowing away on supply trucks, I beg you to think again. Your commandant is a fair man, but I will not tolerate this behavior."

Newkirk stifled a yawn. He'd listened to these speeches, or ones similar, for three and a half years and there was only one thing he could say about them… they lacked any kind of originality. Not to mention that the Stalag hadn't had any attempts since Hogan came. He rocked on the balls of his feet, the files tucked beneath the folds of his coat.

Kinch had stayed up all night tapping out the information to London. They had spoken to their contacts in intelligence and the consensus said Marie Lundberger was the best bet. Hogan had taken that with a nod and set about their game plan. The other two candidates, Angela Muller and Kristen Wolff, would need to be sabotaged. According to Kinch's contacts in the Underground. Angela was afraid of dogs, so much so that she couldn't even see one with out having an episode. Fortunately, she was scheduled to arrive for an interview on the same day Oskar Schnitzer was set to change out the dogs. Kristen would be more difficult, she was eminently qualified and hardly anything was known about her personally.

Klink finally drew his usual material to an end and called for a dismissal. The men broke up as Klink with swagger stick under his arm marched back to the offices. Schultz started to usher them back to barracks when Hogan told him about a cleaning detail. Schultz's eyes widened.

"No, Colonel Hogan. You will not trick me again," Schultz said. He shook his head so hard that the fat beneath his chin whipped back and forth at an alarming rate.

"Come on, Schultz," Hogan cajoled. "I promised Helga yesterday that we'd help her clean her office. Think of it as a going-away and wedding present all rolled into one."

Schultz started to whine, "please, I don't want to get into trouble." He frowned, "who told you Fraulein Helga was leaving? Or that she was getting married?"

"You told us. You talk in your sleep, you know," Hogan lied. Schultz's eyes pleaded with him not to say any more, for he knew - from years of dealing with this American - that the next words out of his mouth would contain blackmail.

"I'll tell you what. You let LeBeau and Newkirk go clean Helga's office and I'll forget that little snippet you let slip, hmm?"

Schultz nodded and escorted the two Europeans to the office. After they stepped inside, LeBeau pulled Schultz over to the broom closet. He kept the Sergeant's attention by filling his arms full of a broom, mop, dustpan, and cleaning cloths while telling him stories about the restaurant he worked in Paris and the delicious foods he'd prepared.

Newkirk slid behind Helga's desk and opened the drawer. He slipped the files out of his coat and placed them neatly inside. He was about to close the drawer when he spotted a postcard. The picture was of Nazi soldiers on horseback trudging through deep snow and in the background were pine trees. He turned it over and Helga's name was on the right side with the address of her boarding house in Hammelburg. At the top of the left side was the name, Bruno Lotter, with a Berlin address.

 _You have only left yesterday morning, but I am already lonely without you.  
I miss your warm touch and the feel of your silky, golden curls.  
It is silly, but I'm counting the days until I see your beautiful smile again. _

_Sending you my heart,_

 _Bruno_

Newkirk smiled in spite of himself. He certainly sounded like he was crazy for their Helga, but just in case. He double-checked to see that LeBeau still had Schultz occupied before grabbing a pencil and jotting the name and address on a scrap of paper. Tucking the scrap into his coat, he replaced the card and closed the drawer. Rejoining LeBeau, he started his usual half-hearted, get-it-done-and-get-out-of-here approach to cleaning. He was anxious to get back to the barracks- confident Kinch could have the Underground dig something up on the gent.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own _Hogan's Heroes._ I don't make any money out of these stories. My only reward is the enjoyment I get from creating. None of these characters are real, any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental.

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 _A loud crack of thunder caused the little girl to wake from her fitful sleep. Sitting bolt upright, she glanced about the room frantically. A flash of light followed by an even louder clap of thunder made her jump. "Mama!" she cried, heading for the ladder of the loft._

 _She reached the bottom and spotted her mama sitting in her rocking chair by the stove, just like always. Mama had set the knitting aside and had begun to stand when the girl rushed into her arms. Sitting back down, Mama pulled the girl onto her lap._

 _"It's all right, my treasure," she whispered, as the child tucked her head between her mama's shoulder and neck. "The storm will pass and soon all will be well."_

 _They sat that way for several minutes, each clap of thunder causing the girl to jump. Mama started to hum softly then switched to singing as the girl relaxed, "_ _ **Guten Abend, gute Nacht, mit Rosen bedacht, mit Näglein**_ _**besteckt…"**_

 _The child's eyes drifted shut only to spring open a moment later when her stomach gurgled. "I'm hungry, Mama," she whispered. It felt like ages since supper. _Mama's lips pressed into a thin line, but she lifted the girl down and crossed the room. Digging in the small cupboard beside the sink, she pulled out a quarter-loaf of bread. She cut off a thin slice and smeared a pat of butter across it. She set it in front of her child, who was at the table. The girl took a bite and coughed when she tried to swallow.__

" _It's too dry," she complained._

" _Drink your milk and it won't be," Mama answered, placing a tin mug beside the bread._

 _Mama went back to her rocking chair and resumed her knitting. The girl had to admit, the bread tasted much better with the milk. Slowly, but surely, she choked the bread down and followed each bite with a sip of milk. When she was about half-way through, she heard singing coming from outside. It was happy singing, even though the words were hard to understand._

" _Back to bed," Mama said quickly. She shoved her knitting into its basket as the child began to protest that she wasn't finished. "Hilda," Mama said, her voice was sharp and her face brooked no argument. "Bed, now!"_

 _Hilda scrambled up the ladder and jumped into bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin just as the front door banged open._

" _Alma!?" a man's voice bellowed._

 _Hilda relaxed slightly… it was just Papa._

" _Hush," she heard Mama hiss, "you'll wake the children."_

 _Little Hilda heard the shuffling of papers from the bookcase then the banging of boxes and jars. Mama kept asking what he was looking for. When Papa didn't answer, Mama told him that if it was the egg money, that she'd already given it to the landlord. Hilda frowned when it went completely still downstairs. Curiosity getting the better of her, she crawled out of bed and padded over to the edge of the loft._

 _Papa was just standing there staring at Mama, who was looking at the fire and wringing her hands. After a moment, he said, "I told you I would take care of the rent money."_

 _Mama scoffed, "Beer or schnapps?"_

 _This earned her a slap which caused Mama to cry out and Hilda to gasp. Papa looked up and spotted her. He shoved Mama aside and headed for the loft. "Hilda," he barked. "The locket, give it to me."_

 _Hilda put her hand up to cover the small, oval pendant that held her parent's wedding picture. "But it's my Christmas present," she whispered, shrinking into the corner as Papa approached._

" _Give it to me!"_

Hilda jerked upright, eyes wide and panting. It took a moment for her to remember that she wasn't eight years old anymore; that she was in her own room at the hotel - quite safe. Sighing, she ran her fingers through her bed-tousled hair and with the other hand grabbed the clock. She did a double-take, 8:45…

She'd slept way too late and even if she hurried, would be late for work. She put the clock back on the table and hurried to the wardrobe. She chose the slate-gray dress with long sleeves to hide the bruising from last night and slid it over her head. Risking a quick glance in the mirror, she wasn't surprised to see frightfully dark under-eyes that stood out on her fair skin. She put on a few swipes of red lipstick, grabbed her purse and coat then locked the door behind her.

About ten minutes later, she rushed into the office building and over to the elevator. Aside from the operator and herself, the only other occupant was a Luftwaffe general. The General deferred to her and she purred a soft 'danke'. The operator - an old, white-haired man - smiled and asked the General which floor.

"Herr Weiland's floor, bitter."

Hilda looked up in surprise. Though she shouldn't feel surprised, Gunther's business intertwined with the military often since the war started. She studied him discreetly. He wasn't very tall - about average, but he was very heavy. His face was full and grim with an ugly looking scar across his right cheek. He must have felt her stare, for he looked over and smiled charmingly. Hilda blushed and looked away, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"Albert Burkhalter," he introduced. His voice was nasal, but not completely unpleasant.

She smiled and accepted the hand he offered. "Hilda Kraas. I'm Herr Weiland's personal secretary."

He beamed at this bit of information. "Oh, that's very good. I'm meeting with Weiland all morning, then we shall have lunch," he continued to smile as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I hope you will be able to join us."

Hilda hesitated. The idea of spending the lunch hour with Gunther turned her stomach, but perhaps having a general on her side would be to her advantage. The elevator doors opened and Hilda stepped out.

"I will have to ask Herr Weiland, but I would be honoured to luncheon with you," she smiled coyly and accepted the elbow that Burkhalter offered.

"The honour is mine," Burkhalter said, placing his other hand over hers. They walked down the hallway and Hilda's mind started weaving Burkhalter into her already developed plan.

H~H

Kristen Wolff. Five feet, four inches. Light brown hair; brown eyes.

Hogan's eyes followed her as she marched behind Langenscheidt, through the gate and across the yard. Her face was softer and more kind than the photograph in her file, but she still had a severe schoolmarm demeanor. Her gaze met his briefly before snapping back to Langenscheidt's back. A soft flush made its way to her cheeks. Hogan grinned, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing if the plan didn't work. She stepped onto the porch and shook hands with Schultz. Langenschiedt went back to the gate as the Sergeant guided Frau Wolff into the office.

Hogan casually pushed himself up from the barrack wall against which he'd been leaning. He motioned for Kinch to join him. The second-in-command abandoned the lead position in front of the exercise group and hurried over. LeBeau stepped into his spot with ease and continued leading the group through their lunges. Hogan and Kinch went through the empty barracks and into the Colonel's office, where Kinch set up the coffee pot while Hogan made himself comfortable.

" _Guten Morgan, Frau Wolff,"_ Klink's cheerful voice came over the wire. _"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I feel like I already know you from your references. Herr Donner was most complimentary of your work while you were at his company."_

" _Thank you, Herr Oberst."_ The voice was quiet and shy as she continued, _"I'm grateful that you could see me so soon. I know how busy you must be as the leader of this most efficient camp."_

" _I always find time for lovely ladies,"_ Klink said, then he clapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation. _"Shall we get started, my dear?"_

Hogan chuckled, "she's good. Pretty enough, charming, and knows how to stroke his ego. Did Newkirk and Carter get everything set?"

Kinch nodded, "Newkirk had a devilish smile. I kind of hate to do it to the poor girl."

"Love and war, you know."

" _Dictation is essential,"_ Klink said. _"I dictate many letters to High Command, so accuracy is key."_

Hogan leaned closer, hearing frantic shuffling, then a soft exclamation of disbelief. He shared a grin with Kinch.

" _Is there something wrong?"_

" _I'm sorry, Herr Oberst. I think I must've left my pencils at home. I could've sworn I packed them…"_

" _No matter."_ Klink opened the drawer of his desk. _"You can use my pen."_

" _Thank you, Herr Oberst."_

Klink waved her off with a smile. _"Now," he said, "let's begin…"_

H~H

Hilda pushed the remnants of the food on her plate around in circles. Gunther had been angry when General Burkhalter suggested she join them for lunch, but there was really nothing he could do to prevent it. Well, not if he wished to appease Burkhalter. She spent the majority of the lunch smiling, laughing at the General's jokes, and giving him all the attention she could muster. The General devoured that attention and gave her all of his in return. Oh, yes… she could use him quite nicely.

"Here," Burkhalter said, reaching for her glass. "Have some more wine."

Hilda laughed, "Please, Herr General, it is only half past noon. I shan't be able to return to work at this point."

"Would that be so bad?" he said, squeezing her knee beneath the table. She squealed and met Gunther's gaze. He was furious.

"I think Herr Weiland would not approve."

Burkhalter shifted his attention to Weiland. He poured the man another glass of wine, saying, "You never told me what a dutiful secretary you had, Weiland. You'd best treat her well, or else I shall steal her right out from beneath your nose." He let out a rolling laugh, "then how would you survive?"

Gunther forced a polite smile and took a large swallow of wine. "If she was truly needed for the war effort, then I would simply have to make do."

This garnered an even bigger laugh from Burkhalter. "In that case, I shall take her!" he said then turned back to Hilda and took her hand. "What say you, Fraulein? Shall I take you to all the sights?"

"And what sights are those, Herr General?"

"The finest Prisoner-of-War camps in all of the Reich!" Burkhalter scoffed, "or that's what their commandants keep telling me. Camp Thirteen has never had a successful escape since 1941."

Hilda widened her eyes in childlike awe; she knew men loved it when she was innocent and demure. "That's incredible!" she exclaimed, then placed her hand on his forearm. "All from your guidance and example, I'm sure."

Burkhalter beamed in delight, while Gunther rolled his eyes. "I hate to be the one to break up a lovely lunch, but it's getting late," he said. He gritted his teeth when Burkhalter ignored him and patted Hilda's hand affectionately. "I must return to the office," he said loudly.

The General jarred his eyes away from Hilda long enough to nod at him. "It was nice to meet you, Weiland," he said. He stood, wavering slightly, and shook the other's hand. "I hope you don't mind if Hilda stays for a little while… I'd love the company."

Before Gunther could quash the idea, Hilda agreed. "That would be marvelous," she said, adding, "I've done everything you asked me to do last night and I'm done typing up the letters you dictated."

Gunther acquiesced with another forced smile. He pulled his wallet from the breast pocket of his jacket and put some Marks on the table. Burkhalter started to protest, but he waved his hand dismissively and muttered that it was his pleasure. Burkhalter took this at face value, though Hilda knew the biting sarcasm behind it. She watched as he stalked across the dining room and out the door.

"Have some more wine," Burkhalter said, pulling Hilda's attention back. He started to pour, adding, "Now that the old bore is gone, we can have some fun."

His eyes twinkled mischievously and his hand found her knee again. She took the glass and sipped some wine, then she said, "tell me more about your camps."


End file.
